


what demands to be felt

by breeeliss



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeeliss/pseuds/breeeliss
Summary: Love is rather weighted. Love has implications and responsibilities and side effects that Trevor has tried his very best to avoid. He almost wants to correct Sypha but the sentiment lights a small flame in Alucard’s eyes that had been absent upon their arrival. Trevor certainly cares, and he supposes if love is the word that Alucard needs to hear then Trevor can learn to get used to the sound of it.or, trevor and sypha return to dracula's castle to visit alucard





	what demands to be felt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ErinNovelist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/gifts).



> //for erin

Trevor breaks out from a nightmare and calls for Alucard. 

He can see him standing on the edge of the flames engulfing Belmont Manor before it disappears into wisps of old memories. The snaps he hears are not that of hundred year old oak wood splintering under the force of impossible heat, but that of the campfire burning by his feet. He isn’t alone and standing barefoot in the snow while he watches it burn. He’s resting in a bed of leaves with Sypha curled against his back. Reality begins to trickle down until the panic in his chest settles into a familiar ache easily remedied with liquor. If only he had any on him. 

Sypha doesn’t like him drunk, so for her Trevor tries to stop. He never tells her that blacking out helps him sleep through the night, although he supposes nightmares are bearable when he has her to wake up next to. 

And it’s a strange thought that comes to him then, because he doesn’t envision a future with Alucard as he does with Sypha. Sypha is a reprieve. Alucard is an unwelcome reminder of a past he thought he’d finished leaving behind. Alucard brings back nightmares. Alucard makes his fingers itch for the neck of a bottle. 

But Alucard is also alone, trapped in a home filled with generations worth of tragedies. Trevor had gifted the Belmont Hold to him in the hopes he’d be able to grow something out of all the death and terror they’d both suffered. Perhaps that had been too daunting a task to burden him with — him with a heart that is still half human and crumbles under the weight of insurmountable pain. 

Trevor remembers how lonely it is to build something from nothing. He remembers nights passed out under bar stools where all he prayed for was someone warm to help make it easier. 

He shakes Sypha awake until she’s rolling her head into his lap and blinking sleepily into the fire. “What was it this time?” she asks, already accustomed to waking multiple times a night for his sake. 

Trevor stares out against the darkened line of mountains and counts the number of days off their journey they’re about to lose. “Would you be willing to go on a bit of a detour?”

* * *

 

Sypha drives the carriage while Trevor oils his whip and, for once, attempts to prepare what he will say. Words were never his strong suit, but the comfort of their blunt and sarcastic quipping feels like the wrong sort of approach to use after not having seen Alucard in weeks. He doesn’t share the fear out loud, but there truly is no telling in what state they will find him once they arrive. It’s a disturbing thought — mainly because Alucard has never allowed either of them to think that he is anything but entirely composed. 

Trevor looked back that day they left him. Alucard turned towards the castle with his fingers trembling. 

“Maybe it won’t be quite as terrible as you’re imagining.” Sypha’s worry always bleeds into her eyes, so he knows she isn’t saying it to lie to him. One of her hands leave the reigns to grab onto his, and he privately admits that her fingers across his knuckles do plenty to quell the inexplicable torment he feels as the tallest spires of Dracula’s castle begin to spear the horizon. 

“He staked his own father and then we left him alone with it.” 

Sypha keeps her eyes on the road. “He wanted to stay,” she says, spoken in a way that attempts to convince both him and herself that they aren’t to blame for what they might see. “There’s no way either of us could’ve known what he needed.” 

She isn’t wrong — and maybe Trevor isn’t wholly accustomed to the concept of keeping close friendships for longer than the extent of an unfortunate collection of circumstances — but this isn’t an exercise in evenly distributing blame. He has no interest in who was wrong or what the right thing should’ve been. Delicacy is a fragile dance that Trevor feels isn’t worth scolding people for getting the steps wrong to. 

What matters are his actions, and right now he doesn’t wish the dark maw of despair that overtook the latter years of his life on anyone. Not even on the son of one of the darkest agents of evil to ever walk the Earth.

* * *

 

The castle no longer groans with the sound of centuries old mechanical wonders breathing a strange sentience into the cobblestones, but Trevor almost prefers that to the deathly silence that allows even his breathing to echo off the walls. Alucard has gone through no effort to renovate as there are still entire patches of cooling, rotting blood seeping into the carpets. Every flicker of a curtain makes his head turn, and he thinks it would be very easy to go mad in here. 

He half expects to see a ghost every time he turns a corner. 

Sypha gasps as they walk through the gallery, her fingers sliding along a painting that has been covered with a thick tarp. “It’s of his mother,” she says as she peeks underneath and brushes her fingertips along the name plaque that was lovingly carved by hand. Trevor recognizes some of the art pieces he walks by — from books and word of mouth mostly, although he imagines these are the originals hanging before him — but he doesn’t need to be told what lies behind all the covered and overturned paintings. 

“Do you think he’ll be in the study?” Trevor asks. 

“You mean Dracula’s study? I doubt that. It seems like he’d want to stay somewhere free of his memories.” 

“This place is drowning in them, Sy. Only way he’s escaping is if he leaves.”

“Then…somewhere he thinks is safe. Where the pain can’t touch him.”  

Trevor sighs, not used to picking apart the brains of stubborn dhampirs with pasts they apparently want to completely erase. “The library then? What harm are books?” 

Sypha chuckles. “I suppose it’s a start.” 

The library isn’t just a library — it’s a museum of all sorts of peculiar baubles, futuristic contraptions, and unimaginably large tomes filled with more knowledge than Trevor ever knew existed in the world. He remembered Alucard mentioning this, that Dracula’s death, no matter how necessary, would be a tragedy if only because of the knowledge he would take with him to his grave. Everything in this room is all that’s left of that knowledge, and he supposes there’s something uplifting about that. Simple. Unpainful. Untouched. 

Hence why they find him by the dead fireplace, surrounded by piles of open books and unrolled star charts as he passed a gilded gold spyglass back and forth in his hands. He must have known the moment they’d come through the door because he doesn’t flinch when Sypha sits down next to him and links her arm with his. Alucard doesn’t acknowledge her, but he also doesn’t push her away, almost as if he doesn’t want to outwardly admit the comfort that having her close by again brings him. 

Sypha is wiser than Trevor — knows the power of silence and the weight of her words. Perhaps it’s best to follow her lead and say nothing, be a shoulder as opposed to a nuisance. But Trevor doesn't like the way Alucard is staring into the dying embers of the fireplace, doesn’t like the empty look on his face, doesn’t like that he hasn’t  _ said _ anything to the ones he dared to call his friends. So Trevor kneels in front of him, grabs ahold of his chin, and tips it up until Alucard’s too-bright eyes are forced to focus on his. 

“Anyone in there?” he asks indelicately. “Oughta snap out of it. Anyone could just waltz in here and rob you blind. Lucky we came.” 

The poor attempt at humor seems to help at least a little, because Alucard’s lip curls just a touch and he laughs. “Your concern for my personal belongings is truly touching. I should hire you as my guard dog.” 

Trevor smirks. “Little bastard. You look like you’ve slept here.” It seems worse than that. It looks as if he hasn’t changed clothes in at least a few days. 

Alucard stares up at the skylight hanging over their heads which Trevor imagines must double as a sort of observatory tower. “I was finishing Father’s star charts. He found it a rather calming pastime as I remember.” 

Sypha rests her chin on his shoulder. “Are they nearly done?” 

“No, not quite. In a few weeks perhaps.” 

“And after that?” 

“I suppose some of his anatomical texts could use work.” 

“What, so you’re a scholar now?” Trevor grunts. “Wasting away amongst your books?” 

Alucard brushes his fingers along the pages closest to him. “Someone must.” 

“Books don’t need masters, Alucard.” 

“Most don’t. But these do. There’s more power brimming from these volumes than either of us could ever hope to understand.” 

He’s surrounded by his inheritance, Trevor realizes, and perhaps Alucard is dancing a strange dance between wanting to rid himself of all that he owns and feeling as though he has a duty to protect it. Trevor was never given that choice, ousted from his home as he was, and even as he stood amongst the history written by his family, Trevor knew that it wasn’t an heirloom that he had the capacity to competently protect. 

Dracula has always been Alucard’s responsibility, both in life and in death. He does not want to stay. He feels he must do so anyway. He feels he must do so  _ alone _ . 

Trevor knows what a dark hole that is to fall into. 

He sighs as he falls to sit in front of him. “If you insist. While you’re scribbling away, you ought to reinforce the doors.” 

Sypha wrinkles her nose. “Scrub the floors.” 

“Opening a few windows couldn’t hurt. It’s not as if you burn up in the sun anyway.” 

“Magical protections on the Hold should be replaced. Maybe a few dotted about here as well.” 

Trevor rolls his neck. “Wonderful. I could do for a spot of breakfast before we start. Maybe a quick pint.” 

Alucard snorts. “So you’ve returned to take command over my renovations?” 

Sypha’s fingers along his brow are gentle. “We only mean to take away some burden. The best way to handle weights you have not asked for is to share them with those you love and trust.”

_ Love _ is rather weighted.  _ Love _ has implications and responsibilities and side effects that Trevor has tried his very best to avoid. He almost wants to correct Sypha but the sentiment lights a small flame in Alucard’s eyes that had been absent upon their arrival. Much of what Alucard has loved has been destroyed, either at his hand or at the hands of those he sacrificed everything to protect. Trevor certainly  _ cares _ , and he supposes if love is the word that Alucard needs to hear then Trevor can learn to get used to the sound of it. 

Lucky Sypha is much better with words than he is. 

She curls up against Alucard’s side, and he’s close enough that when he slumps forward from exhaustion his forehead falls against Trevor’s shoulder. Once he composes himself, Trevor is sure he’ll put in a great deal of effort to forget that he ever leaned on someone like Trevor for anything resembling friendly support. But for now Trevor feels Sypha’s arm curling around his back, and he can’t help but complete the circle and pull Alucard into a loose embrace. There’s a warmth that settles in the pit of his stomach that reminds him of Sypha’s hands when she kisses his cheeks and tells him that it’s time someone stopped the world long enough to love him. 

Alucard sighs against Trevor’s collarbone, and all of the muscles in his body tense one last time before completely unravelling in a manner that is wholly and undoubtedly human. 


End file.
